In the concrete jungle

… a condition, primarily associated with writing, in which an author (angler) loses the ability to produce new work (fish), or experiences a creative (bankside) slowdown.

There are various cures to be found in the internet, from seven to twenty seven easy steps. But as an angler, a carp angler, there is only one answer – GO FISHING!

And therein lies the problem.

This year has not seen a line wetted, a shocking revelation for an angler. I don’t think you ever stop being an angler, having started as a kid the gaps between fishing adventures have been both short and long but neither dulls the passion.

I take heart there will be a date (or two) in the diary soon and blogs to follow.

In the meantime, I’m surrounded by water!

The year started with a short contract that involved long hours and weekend work – not conducive to family life let alone a carpy life.

Now, I am at Canary Wharf:

Water, water everywhere but nor a drop to fish [sic]

Apologies to Samuel Coleridge, The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner.

I have watched the water, the cormorants and gulls but no signs of life on these Urban Banx. Where is Alan Blair when you need him?

Having said that, I did see Ali Hamidi host a fishing match in St Katherine’s Dock a number of years ago and one of the guys pulled a good sized Koi out on a pole; 6lbs, not a Monster Carp.

Perhaps this is The (ultimate) Challenge for Mark Pitchers, the venue would be handicap enough without Harry moving the goals posts.

Back to my challenge – fish, sleep, write, repeat.

August bank holiday is fast approaching, as is my birthday in September. Two good reasons to reserve some time at the lake.

I’ll test the water at home before hitting the water.

Tightlines, and preferably wet lines!